


Can't Talk About It Now

by orphan_account



Series: Draco Malfoy's Travel Diary [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Dialogue Light, Diary/Journal, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Enemies to Lovers, First Meetings, Frustration, Harry is a Tease, India, Love/Hate, M/M, Meditation, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Draco Malfoy, POV First Person, Pining, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Frustration, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A year after the War, Draco goes to a ten day meditation program in India, hoping to find peace and understanding. The rules? No killing, no sex, no lying, and no talking.<br/>The only problem is that, for some reason, Harry Potter is there, too. And Draco wants to break all of the rules.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Can't Talk About It Now

**Day Zero:**

I took the bus to get here. Muggle transportation is dreadful. There was scum (of both the human and non-sentient variety) everywhere, and it smelled like literal shit. I scourgified myself half a dozen times.

But there was a meet for coffee for us newbs at the goenka camp, so I went to that before hand. It was in the village, and the coffee was decent (it was much better in Africa). I also had a biscuit, and I doubt I'll have any of that for the next ten days. Goodbye, caffeine and sugar...

When I arrived, what I found wasn't pleasant. We'll be sleeping in _shacks_ , for Merlin's sake. It's dreadful. The bed might as well be concrete, and there's hardly any roof to protect me from the elements.

The food today was even worse.

Stale crackers. 

They took away everything but my clothes and my wand (I kept this diary hidden). They would have taken the latter, too, except they're stupid muggles and I told them it was my "breathing stick," which seemed to satisfy them. From what I've heard, everything here is about breathing. I'll be doing a lot of breathing here (ha, as if that isn't normal!).

You know what I won't be doing? Killing people (not like I ever could do that anyway), fucking people (not that I've been able to find a gay wizard since leaving for this gods-forsaken journey), communicating with people (used to that, too, as no one speaks English well enough to hold a bloody conversation), and lying (which you'd think would come easy with the whole not talking thing, but it would appear I'm rather adept at lying to myself).

Despite my sad indifference to the rules, this place seems like a prison... But they say Vipassana brings you peace tantamount to that which one finds from becoming a monk, which sounds brilliant right about now. And, let's face it... I'm not becoming a monk.

This is bad enough.

**Day One:**

Merlin. Fucking gods. I... I think Harry Potter is here. And I didn't even see him yesterday? How could I miss Harry fucking Potter? He mustn't have gone to the coffee meet before dinner.

But, there he was, this morning at the first session. It was before the sun had risen, and he was too asleep to probably even notice me. He was practically asleep, so at first I didn't think it was him because his ~~gorgeously green~~ eyes were closed, so that giveaway was gone. But between the messy, dark, curly hair and the shape of his figure and the magic reverberating off of him?

Fuck yes, it was Potter.

And then, we were having breakfast (bananas, gods no), and he kept staring at me. It was like the Great Hall at Hogwarts all over again. And I kept on staring back ~~because that's how we always go about it.~~

And he was there all day, and I couldn't say a word to him. I thought the no talking thing wouldn't be an issue, but when Potter's there... All I want to do is scream insults at him. And hurt him. And ask him why he had to be here.

All I wanted was peace.

**Day Two:**

I hate this. I hate this so much. Even if I didn't have to get up hours before sunrise, I still slept in that rock of a bed in that shack of a room and I'm fairly certain the monkeys outside of my window are demons.

Breakfast was some kind of potato, and I'm getting the picture that this place is vegetarian. It's awful, but I suppose it's hard to live a life of peace when you're eating animal carcasses. Still, it's not like I've ever been one to care about the consequences of my actions on other people...

Gah. There I go again. Having these strange, introspective thoughts. It's hard to avoid those when all you do is sit and stare at a concrete wall all day and breathe. When I'm not becoming aware of my every flaw and every hair in my naval cavity, I'm eating meals and staring at Potter.

Having my wand around is becoming a great temptation for me, because all I want to do is hex him until he stops fucking staring at me. I swear to god, if he gives me that _What are you up to, Mafoy?_ look one more time, I _will_ murder him. Rules be damned.

**Day Three:**

I hate myself.

When I'm not staring at Potter and trying to force down less-than-mediocre food, I'm all alone with my fucking pathetic excuse of a self. I'm realizing how petty I am, how sad I am, how stupid I am...

Maybe I shouldn't have brought this diary, because I find myself reading it over and wondering what the hell I've been thinking the past few months. I'm a terrible person, aren't I? I was a Death Eater, just because my father made me. I could have said no, couldn't I? I could have been brave ~~like Potter~~ and been my own person. And then people ~~like Potter~~ might have respected me.

But even worse, I've learned that if you leave me alone without any audial stimulation, my brain will provide it--in the form of Celestina Warbeck songs. ~~While I'm thinking about Potter, no less.~~

I'm such a terrible person.

 

**Day Four:**

I've gotten used to Potter staring at me at mealtimes. I just tell myself that we're at school again, and it's completely normal, and I'm just brooding, and the only reason the food is dismal is because Pansy is making me go on one of her diets again.

Of course, this is considered _lying._ I'm lying to myself again. Maybe that's why I'm almost half-way through this and I'm feeling no more enlightened or peaceful. In fact, I feel worse.

No thanks to Potter, of course.

He's judging me, I know he is. He's wondering why I of all people would come here to find peace. Because, of course, I'm too self obsessed to _not_ be at peace with myself. I'm too spoilt to give up all earthly joys and submit myself to this torture. I'm too terrible and close minded to even consider Buddhist practices and peaceful actions.

But, that does beg the question... Why is _Potter_  here? What problem has he got with his inner self that he needs to turn to the crash-diet of peace-inducing lifestyles to be happy? Potter has everything.

What's his problem?

**Day Five:**

The teacher caught Potter and I staring at each other during the meditation session. He was right in the middle of telling his how to breathe and what to think, when his eyes locked on me, and he said, "And remember, there is to be no nonverbal communication."

Half way through, you think I didn't know that?

But, still, we weren't _communicating_! There was nothing in that stare. Probably not even hate or jealousy left over. Right?

Anyways, after that, we were allowed to do our quiet breathing outside. Teacher said we can now, for this second half. I sat under a tree and the demon monkeys chattered, and I found myself staring at some very ~~familiarly~~ green leaves ~~that reminded me of something.~~

And then, Potter sat next to me and looked at me and what I was staring at was still green ~~and I knew what the leaves had reminded me of~~. I'm not a fool, though, and I didn't give him the satisfaction of my attention for more than a few moments. But I could still feel him breathing, and his magic was so _electric_ it was insane.

I got up and tried to ignore him by moving to another spot, and the git smiled at me. I just glared back, and he kept staring. And he smiled again. Warmly.

Somehow, I think Potter's pulling off the whole peaceful meditation thing. That would explain why his glances look so blissful.

 **Day Six** :

My back aches. My legs ache. My head aches. Even my heart aches, from all this inner contemplating.

I think I'm pining.

That's not what I should be feeling right now, is it? I should be feeling clarity and understanding, but right now, all I understand is that I'm longing for something. I'm lonely, and it's not just the not-talking talking.

I haven't really known anyone since leaving home, and even then, I was distanced from everyone. I don't think I've felt close to anyone since before the war, and this ceaseless wandering isn't helping. And here's someone that knows me, even if they don't know the real me so much, and I can't even talk to them.

I just want to sit with Potter under that tree again and jabber about my life and my pain and the war. Even though I know he wouldn't give a flying fuck.

~~_Shit._  Am I pining for Potter?~~

Oh, and today has actually been fairly interesting. Along with the fact that there was salt on my food and I saw a lovely blue bird (gods, is this what it means to appreciate the simple pleasures in life?), Potter sat next to me again. His magic feels nice, nicer than most of the people I've been around. Then again, they've all been Dark wizards.

Even better, one of the teachers caught me writing a few hours ago. I cast a nonverbal obliviate and he left me alone. I bet Potter felt the magic, though--it takes a good amount of effort to cast a spell like that silently.

Suffice to say, I might sleep better tonight, as I'm so tired. The bed is something I'm getting used to.

**Day Seven:**

I'm almost done.

All I can think about is getting out of here, so I can talk and eat real food and sleep in a real bed and sleep in and do something besides think all day. Though, when Potter's there, I think a lot about our days at school together. Maybe seeing him here was the universe's way of telling me I need to get over our shit. Though, it might be easier if we could actually _talk_ , seeing as that's how people resolve issues.

For all I know, Potter still thinks I'm a worthless son-of-a-Death-Eater. He probably can't figure out why I'm here. I'm a mystery to Potter, I am. ~~Do you think Potter likes mysterious blokes? Or even blokes?~~

But that doesn't explain why he's being so friendly. Can I call it friendly? We haven't spoken a word to each other. But he watches me and one time he even smiled at me and he sits next to me. Maybe he's just basking in my magnificence? Can't say I blame him, though. I'm doing it, too.... I mean, I'm basking in the presence of another wizard's magic.

Ha, like I'd think Potter's magnificent.

Dammit, I'm not supposed to be ~~lying~~ writing. Maybe that's why I haven't found peace yet. They only let me have the journal is because I'm hiding it.

**Day Eight:**

There are tiny holes in the concrete wall of my room (aka prison cell), and I am having nightmares about them filling up with coagulated blood. It's terrible. I didn't sleep well because of it, despite the fact that it was a particularly mild (albeit strange) nightmare.

Potter was in a similar disheveled state, I'm pleased to add. We sat together again today, and I was wondering if Potter ever has nightmares, too. Don't we all? We all fought in a war... And my mother says he might've even died. He did have the Killing Curse cast at him, after all.

Speaking of the battle, I also was thinking about how he saved me from the Fiendfyre. ~~Potter is a fucking noble man.~~ I have no idea why he saved me, besides that wretched hero complex of his. Then again, what other reason should he have?

I would have never, ever thought I would be in this situation. I see Potter every day, and I don't even insult him. He sits next to me on soft, damp earth ~~with our shoulders pleasantly brushing~~ and I can't even talk to him.

I can't even deny the fact that I want to talk to him. I want him to know everything about me, I want him to understand. Then, when he's staring at me, I wouldn't have to imagine what he's contemplating.

Even if I do see him after this, I doubt I'll ever know what he's thinking. His eyes betray nothing, even when we make eye contact or are sitting close enough to touch. The man is a solid block of peace and meditation. How the fuck does he do it? It's not fair. He always has to go and do better than me.

Then again, he probably has a lot less guilt resting on his shoulders.

**Day Nine:**

Potter's an idiot. I want to ~~fuck~~ kill him.

There we were, fresh out of the meditation class, and he spent all lunch staring at me with those bloody ~~green~~ blank eyes of his. I had no idea what he was thinking, as usual.

And then we were going outside, and he was following me to the tree where we I sit. He sat so close to me, our shoulders weren't just brushing, they were full out _touching_. ~~And it felt brilliant.~~

I couldn't breathe. Things like touching feel so amplified here. I sighed a little, which was ridiculous. Completely unnecessary. Of course, Potter didn't notice, because he's so good at meditating he doesn't even know you're there.

But he _did_ notice the other completely unnecessary thing my body decided to do. It was completely coincidental, I swear to god. It happens sometimes! I'm still technically a teenager. I can be allowed the occasional random hard on, can't I? It had nothing to do with Potter.

But then Potter _made_ it about Potter, and he smiled at me, and he put his hand dangerously high up on my thigh.

That's against the rules, isn't it? It's against every rule. It has to be. Why would he even do that?

Then the bell rang, calling us back to our rooms. He smirked at me, and his hand lingered a moment longer, and then he stood up and paced away.

I think I broke a rule. Does it count as sex if it's just you and your hand?

I hate Potter. I hate this place. I'm never going to find peace like this.

**Day Ten:**

Oh, gods. It's the last day. And what a fine day it is! The sun is out, and everything's just glowing, and it's beautiful, and I am completely at peace and I don't feel like shit at all.

Of course, that's what I _would_ be saying if Potter weren't here and fucking up this entire experience for me. If he weren't here, I wouldn't be writing every day. I wouldn't be having treacherous thoughts. I wouldn't be so distracted. I wouldn't be staring, and I wouldn't be pining, and I wouldn't have had any stupid accidental hard-ons.

What's the point in denying it anymore? Isn't that what I'm here for? Peace and understanding? If I can't have the former, then I'll take the latter.

Potter's fucking _brilliant,_ and I've thought so since the minute I met him. But he rejected me, and so I hated him. And I thought that all those strong emotions that I felt around him were hatred, but they were probably something else.

This is something else. If I hate someone, they're not worth the time of day. And I'd give Potter the time of day any day, and probably anything else he asked for, too. And that makes me feel like I hate him, but it's probably just frustration.

And here he is, hardly fifty meters from me at the furthest all day, and I can't talk to him. And he might still hate me. But he stares at me with--with those _eyes._ And today they were full of something that I don't understand but my plenty avid imagination is happy to conjure speculations of.

I can't wait to wake up tomorrow, and be able to talk. I'm going to walk up to Potter, apologize for everything I've done, sock him in the jaw, kiss him better, and then run away and pretend that none of this ever happened.

And I'm going to forget that I ever acknowledged these feelings.

Because there's no such thing as eternal peace, is there?

**Day One (freedom!):**

I spoke to Potter today. I didn't get to do what I'd planned, though. Maybe this is better, though.

I had just gotten al my things back, and I was about to leave. But Potter was standing there, waiting, looking tan and handsome and kissable and untouchable in the same ragged tee shirt and shorts I saw him wear on the first day. I wanted to just walk past him, but he grabbed my arm as I tried.

"I haven't spoken in forty days," he told me, and his voice was rasping and his hand flew to his throat in shock.

"Why start now?" I asked, and those were my first words. I wasn't as raspy as him, but talking was hard. For more reason than one.

And then, Potter took me to that goddamned tree again, and sat me down. He started talking to me about the War, the guilt, the attention, the fear... I don't know if I loved him or I hated him in that moment, but I kissed him. Hard. He didn't mind. And Merlin, it felt good, and it'd been much longer than ten days since I felt that way...

But that didn't excuse what he'd said. Potter's an idiot, if he thinks that love and adoration and killing Death Eaters are things to be distraught over. I think my kiss told him what I thought, because he shut up.

And then I talked at him for a while. How I have real reasons to hate myself, how people hate me, how every moment I'm in Britain is a living terror and I feel like the victim in some twisted version of Where's Waldo.

He kissed me, then, and it was nice. He said he knew. He said he could feel it when he meditated with me. He said he knew why I was here, and he felt the need to answer my questions. He needed me to know.

I think Harry Potter is a legilimens.

**Day Two:**

I saw Potter in the village today.

He took me out to coffee, and we both drank the shit like it was ambrosia. We both had way too many cups, and then we were both jittery and hysterical.

And Potter is so _bloody amazing_ when he laughs. I can't even bring myself to cross that out, because I'm not lying to myself anymore. I even told him as much. He kissed me right there in the shoppe, and the lady kicked us out. I guess men don't kiss publicly in India.

So I took him back to my shitty little motel room, and I doubt I need to tell you what that meant, besides the fact we broke a rule that doesn't matter anymore and that dirty bedsheets in a third world motel have never felt so amazing.

Green has never been greener, skin has never felt more sensual, and it's never felt so good to just be able to cry out. And to cry out Harry Potter's name without pretending I hate him...

I hope he's a legilimens. Then he'd know I didn't really ever hate him.

I need to stop writing. He's woken up. Oh, gods, he's so _kissable...._

**Day Five:**

Potter's amazing. India is amazing. Meditation is amazing. I don't want to leave. I want to stay here and fuck Potter in cheap tourist hostels and kiss him under smoggy night skies and talk to him under trees and buy him souvenirs from relentlessly begging street shops.

But I have a port key to Mongolia that activates in an hour, and he's got to go back to Britain to be adored by his friends and to be the Boy Who Lived. He promised me he'd meet me in Norway in a month, though. I don't know why Norway. I said I'd never been, and he said he'd take me, and then I said I wanted to see the Northern lights and he said he wanted to see me.

He said he'll wait for me to come back to Britain, too. _Harry Potter promised to wait for me._

Gods, I miss him already.

Is this what peace feels like?


End file.
